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assistants and then not being here to interview us.”
    â€œYou’ll make a great detective with logic like that,” she said. The sarcasm flowed thicker than honey but nowhere near as sweet.
    â€œHow long should we wait for him, dear?”
    â€œAs long as it takes. This is the only job you’re qualified for.”
    â€œAnd since there are two office positions open, we can work together.”
    Lucas kept from laughing at the man’s tone. He mixed wistfulness with outrage. If his wife noticed, she made no comment about working together.
    Lucas took his hand away from Amanda’s address and the money she had given him. The two in front of the detective agency wanted jobs; they didn’t work for the Great West Detective Agency and would be unable to find the missing dog with any more skill than he had at his disposal. And if Lucas was any judge, skill would have nothing to do with finding the dog. It would be pure luck.
    He was willing to use up some of Lady Luck’s largesse for a hundred and the promise of more later. Besides, he needed something to keep him occupied while the laundry worked to clean his coat for the evening’s tryst with Carmela.
    Lucas went off whistling “The Cuckoo’s Nest” as he hunted for a shop capable of cleaning his jacket without leaving spots or holes.

4

    W ith his coat being cleaned and his remaining clothing torn and stinking of garbage, Lucas saw that he would get nowhere in the neighborhood where Amanda lived and the dog had been stolen. Matching the woman’s obvious wealth, the well-kept boardinghouses lining the street spoke of society a notch above where he dwelled. Even walking down the middle of the street garnered unwanted glares and more than one woman closing her door. The sound of a locking bar dropping into place quickly followed.
    As he walked, Lucas appeared not to be too attentive to the details of Amanda’s house. It was a two-story house with a neat lawn and a lawn jockey in front for the visitors to tie up their horses. He suspected only Thoroughbreds were so tethered. A smile crept to his lips. That might describe the occupants of the house, too, but he had no real information about that. Who in the boardinghouse might steal a young lady’s puppy dog? Unless he barged in, he would never find out. His quick trip down the street had already drawn the attention of two policemen. As he sped up, so did they, closing the gap between them.
    He had dealt with lawmen all over Denver and knew many of them by name. These two might have been employed as specials, guards restricted to patrolling this single neighborhood. The residents might easily pay for the added protection. If so, he needed to speak to them to find what had happened the night Tovarich disappeared. The two guards might be a part of the theft—or had been paid off to look the other way.
    He cut down a street to his right. They followed at a run now. Lucas had learned nothing and wasn’t going to find out any more without appearing as if he belonged here. He saw no point in being caught and interrogated. He ran faster than either of the policemen, but they seemed determined.
    Panting, he finally reached a spot off Larimer Square where he could catch his breath without being beset by men with wooden clubs or slung shot, that nasty piece of iron hung on the end of a chain Lucas avoided whenever he could. As he recovered from his run, he watched the street traffic. Everyone headed in one direction, drawn by a deep bass voice extolling virtue and rectitude. He followed and then moved into the middle of the crowd for further anonymity. Being coshed by the specials was less likely if he hunkered down and seemed as attentive as the others pressing shoulder to shoulder with him. The feigned interest became real when he recognized the man on the crate. The voice was differently pitched, raspy, possibly from some throat injury since the man wore a thick scarf